It is increasingly apparent that bogans have a love of two distinct, but closely related things: celebrities (i.e. reading about, looking at, listening to, talking about, imitating etc.) and the appearance of health (i.e. thin (f) or huge (m)). And nowhere do these things collide more violently than in the guise of a post-natal bogan woman.
The logic, as the bogan understands it, is undeniable. Fat is unhealthy. Carrying a living being in your womb for nine months will tend to result in substantial weight gain. Ergo, childbearing is an inherently unhealthy thing whose effects must be reversed as rapidly and drastically as possible once the responsible offspring are removed and placental remains mopped up.
This belief is consistently reinforced as bogans gather to discuss the varying successes of relevant celebrity mothers who, with their vast fortunes, excessive spare time and cameras constantly aimed at their thighs, manage to lose about 30kgs within the week following childbirth. Seeing as, according to the bulk of the bogan mother’s reading material, celebrities are ‘just like us’, it is no stretch to imagine that this is how the body is supposed to work.
Thus, the bogan automatically reverts to a diet of shakes, egg whites and broccoli stems for three months, purchases a jogging stroller and effectively starves itself in an effort to return to the hallowed ‘pre-baby weight’. The true ideal, of course, is to actually revert to a weight that is lower than the week they neglected to take the pill. By this, they attain true celebrity status within their new mothers’ club – the most viciously competitive environment on Earth.
In an effort to defeat their rivals, these new bogan mothers will simultaneously deny themselves food while lactating furiously to empty their soon-to-be stretchmark-free mammary glands. At which point they can resume referring to them by their proper name, boobs. While almost all bogans have the desire to achieve this, many lack the will. The next best thing is to gaze longingly at New Idea and Woman’s Day, pining for the days that they featured in the liftouts in the middle of the street presses, pouting from behind a flirtini.